


The Warlock's Gift

by followyourenergy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Exhibitionism, Fear of Rejection, Frustrated Dean Winchester, Heartfelt Conversations, Invisibility, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Perception, Spells & Enchantments, Touching, Voyeurism, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followyourenergy/pseuds/followyourenergy
Summary: During a hunt, Castiel becomes invisible to the Winchesters thanks to a teenage warlock who thinks he's giving Castiel a gift. Sam is pragmatic about it, but Dean is...unsettled that he can't see him. To help, Cas agrees to keep Dean apprised of his whereabouts by touching him. All the touching and the mysterious puzzle that Dean has to solve in order to break the spell work to break down Dean's defenses about his feelings for Cas. But in order to break the spell completely, Dean and Castiel both need to see and say some things they haven't before.A story about seeing and being seen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazshero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazshero/gifts).

> I was super excited to get this story idea from kazshero, one of the winning bidders of the Fic Facers auction and an awesome human! I really hope you like where I took this! :)

Friggin’ witches. Warlocks. Whatever.

Dean and Sam are driving back from their latest case, a warlock who was wreaking havoc on a town, killing people because he was having himself a little hissy fit about who-knows-what (the guy didn’t have an evil monologue prepared when they found him, and they didn’t bother to ask questions). Cas took off somewhere in the middle of the confrontation. They searched the grounds, but they were the only ones there, and the warlock had been alone. 

“Probably got called for some heavenly something-or-other,” Dean mutters to himself. He’s trying not to feel angry about it. Actually, he doesn’t care about feeling the anger. Anger is easy and familiar. It’s the stuff underneath that he doesn’t want to feel.

“You could just give him a call,” Sam suggests, his tone careful.

“Dude’s busy,” Dean grumbles.

“I’m sure he’d—”

“He’s _ busy_. He’ll call when he can.” He takes an angry bite of his gas station burrito and growls in frustration as ground beef spills onto his lap. 

There’s a long, blessed silence before Sam tries, “Dean, I’m sure he had a good reason—”

“Yeah. I’m sure he did.” 

“He didn’t want—”

“How do you know what he wanted?”

Sam rolls his eyes and rakes a hand through his hair. “I mean that I know he wouldn’t just leave you without—”

“Well, he did leave me. Us.” He turns up the music and sings along with Don Henley, effectively drowning out both his brother and his own screaming thoughts. 

Hours later, at the bunker, Dean’s four deep into a six pack and feeling sorry for himself when Sam yells, “Dean! Get out here!”

Careening around the corner, Dean hotfoots it to Sam, weapons raised. Sam is shooting salt rounds at the open door at the top of the stairs, which stop and burst apart in midair. Dean takes a few shots with his handgun; the bullets whizz through the air and lodge in the door. “Hellhounds?” Sam asks out of the corner of his mouth.

“Nah. No growling and tearing us up on sight. Mazikeen?”

“We’re warded against demons.”

The door closes of its own accord. “Stop or I’ll blow your head off!” Dean yells. _ Assuming I can find it_, he adds to himself.

After several minutes of silence, Dean starts to think that maybe they have some sort of shared delusion. “I dunno, man,” he mutters. “Ghost, maybe? It didn’t respond to salt, but...I dunno. I’ll get the EMF.”

He fetches the EMF reader from his room and returns to find Sam walking up and down the stairs, waving a demon blade in one hand and an angel blade in the other, as if he thinks whatever it is will stand still and he’ll bump into it. “There’s nothing here,” he observes, hopping down the last step. 

After thoroughly moving around the bunker and getting no hits on the meter, Dean concludes the same. “Maybe we gotta get more than four hours, huh?” 

“Guess so.” Sam yawns, huge and loud. “Gonna get to it, then. If I’m eaten by this thing during the night, I’ll come haunt you and tell you what it is.”

“Ha ha. Get out of here.”

They part and Dean lies down in his room again, foregoing the alcohol in case he needs to move quickly. He can’t help the eerie feeling that they’re not alone in the bunker, but with nothing to go on, he closes his eyes. Sleep doesn’t come, so after an hour he turns on the light and grabs his phone. He dials Cas’ number.

“Hey, Cas, it’s Dean. If you could take time out of your busy, holy schedule and call me, that’d be great. At least let us know where you’re at. See ya.” 

He tosses the phone down and heaves a disgusted sigh. “Friggin’ A, Cas, where are you? Better not be gettin’ yourself dead,” he mutters. He puts his headphones over his ears and slouches into the mattress, leaning his head on the low headboard behind him. Staring vacantly ahead, he frets, unconsciously tightening his hands into fists. Suddenly, he feels a soft press against his head. Dean only has a moment to notice that he feels safe and warm before sleep takes him under.

In the morning, Dean shuffles into the kitchen to find Sam talking to himself. He’s tired this morning, though he slept with no nightmares. Not knowing Cas’ whereabouts has the same effect on him as nightmares do. “You’ve finally lost it,” he remarks as he looks for a mug for his coffee. 

“Um, actually, no,” Sam replies. “I found Cas. Or, rather, he found me.” He points to an old radio, throwing static.

“What? Where the hell is he?” Dean cries as he plops into the stool across from his brother. The seat beneath him is solid, but softer than usual, and he notices that he’s hovering several inches above it. He jumps up and skitters a foot or two back. “What the…”

“You found him.”

Dean scowls at Sam, then slowly steps toward the seat and reaches out. He feels...the seat. Only the seat. Convinced now that they’re both losing their minds, he turns to tell Sam so when he feels a touch he’d know anywhere on his left shoulder. He imagines Cas saying “Hello, Dean” in that low rumble that always makes Dean wonder if his voice is made of stardust. “Cas?” he says to the empty space, not daring to move. 

Firm pressure lands on his other shoulder and turns him. Dean reaches toward his own shoulder—the left one—and feels Cas’ smooth, thick hand underneath his own, a hand that has cured him, rescued him, comforted him, stopped him from doing stupid things. A hand he cannot see. He drags his own hand up, past the angel’s wrist and elbow and shoulder, down his invisible tie, to his chest. “Cas,” he says again, confidently.

“He can only speak to me through this,” Sam explains, pointing to the radio. “I turned it on to listen to NPR and he contacted me through it. It’s garbled, but it’s him. Say something, Cas.” 

The static doesn’t change. Dean raises a brow. “I don’t hear anything.”

“So you can’t hear him. He was afraid of that. He tried to reach you through your headphones last night.”

“What? This makes no sense.”

“He said he’s invisible because of the warlock’s son.”

“What son?”

Sam sighs. “That warlock we killed had a son he kept trapped in some enchanted outbuilding we couldn’t see. Cas heard and saw him because he’s an angel, I guess. That’s where he took off to. He helped him out, and in return, the kid made him invisible.”

“Friggin’ witches. Warlocks. Damn it. Well, where is this kid? We need to find him, make him turn Cas back, and gank him.” Cas squeezes his shoulders, then takes Dean’s chin in his hand and shakes his head. “No? Why not?”

Cas’ warm weight disappears. It immediately sets Dean on edge until Sam cocks his head toward the radio. 

“He said it’s not a curse, it’s a gift, but that he can’t say any more about it.”

“Well, why not? And why the hell can you hear him but I can’t?”

“Something’s blocking him from forming the words. And he’s not sure why you can’t hear him.”

“Well, that’s just great.” Dean huffs and reaches around blindly until he feels Cas’ arm (he thinks). “We’re gonna figure this out, alright?” He slides his hand up until he finds his neck, then his face. “Alright?”

He feels a subtle scrape up and down his palm, the not-quite-smooth, permanent-eight-hour-stubble feel of Cas’ face as he nods. 

They immediately get to work. Well, Dean and Sam get to work. They lay books in front of Cas, but after a few minutes Sam turns to the radio. “The books won’t open,” he relays. “Seems like anything having to do with getting himself out of this predicament has been locked away from him.”

“Wonderful,” Dean mutters. “What the hell kind of gift is this supposed to be?”

Sam shrugs. “There’s some lesson here, somewhere, I guess. We’ll just have to keep looking.”

As the day wears on, Dean gets antsy, and not just because he’d rather get punched in the face than do research. Cas seems to have disappeared. Again. “Cas, where are you? Cas?”

Fingers curl around his shoulder from above. Cas must be standing. “Man, we’re gonna have to put a bell on you or somethin’. Hey, would that work?” Without waiting for a response (not that he’d hear it anyway), he goes in search of a bell. He finds one in storage, a small jingle bell he rips off a musty plastic wreath that had its heyday way before Dean was born. After tying it to a string, he presents it to Cas like a necklace. “Here you go,” he says. Dean feels Cas’ hands brush against his as he takes it, then watches as the homemade necklace disappears the moment their hands part. 

“He’s ringing it. I can hear it, just barely.”

Even though it’s not his fault Sam can hear Cas and Dean can’t, he shoots him an annoyed glare anyway. “What is the _ point _of all this?” He throws his hands to the heavens. To Cas, he asks, “Look, could you just...stay there? In that chair? It’s annoying not knowing where you are.”

In response, Cas takes him by the arm and sits him in his chair, not letting go until Dean feels him in the adjacent chair. 

He’s not sure why it bugs him so much. Cas is often not around, and it doesn’t bother Dean. Much. Much that he’ll admit, anyway. But when he is around, he’s _ around_—he’s quiet, but he fills the room with his presence, a Chrysler building of light stuffed into a devastatingly handsome six foot man with blue eyes, dark hair, and a body Dean’s seen too little of. But it’s not the physical presence that Dean feels the most, both when it’s present and when it’s absent. It’s his emotional presence, the way he both stirs Dean to distraction and settles his soul. 

After a while, he reaches out, just to make sure he’s still there. He is. He pulls back his hand, only to sneak his leg out, inch by inch, until he finds him again. Sam’s lack of notice tells him he was subtle. Cas’ leg pressing into his purposefully tells him he wasn’t subtle enough. He starts to pull back, but feels Cas hook his leg and keep it in place. A tiny smile alights on his face before he clears his throat and studiously stares at the tome before him once again.

“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Dean mutters after his fourth book and third beer. 

“Maybe it’ll wear off overnight,” Sam suggests, though he doesn’t seem to believe it. “Or maybe it’s tied to the moon phases or something.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He rubs his burning eyes. A solid weight settles on his back. 

“Cas says to go to bed,” Sam says, pointing at the staticky radio.

“I ain’t goin’ to bed until we get this figured out.”

“He says he’s not hurt or anything, and that we’ll be better able to help him after we get some rest.”

“Yeah, well, tell _ him _ that I’m sick of his disappearing acts, and for once, I’m gonna make him reappear.” 

Sam looks up at him, brows raised, as Dean realizes he didn’t mean to say that. Fuckin’ alcohol, or stress, or whatever made his lips flap. “Uh, I don’t need to tell him. He’s right here. He can hear you, Dean.”

Feeling exposed, Dean gathers his beer, his phone, and two books in his arms. “Whatever,” he mumbles as he storms to his room. 

Dean sulks as he leafs through the musty volumes, determined to stay up all night to find the answers they need. He’s exhausted, however, and despite his desire to press on, sleep sneaks up on him. He wakes a while later, panicked. Cas is gone. Cas was torn up by hellhounds, disintegrated with a snap of fingers, hurled into space until he burned up. He scrambles out of bed, ready to sacrifice himself once again to whoever he has to in order to bring him back, when he feels the cool floor on his bare feet and realizes he was having nightmares. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, then ducks his head out his bedroom door. “Cas?” he calls out softly. “Cas?”

With no answer, the panic from Dean’s dreams ramps back up. He flings the door open and gropes his way down the darkened hall, forgetting to bring any sort of light with him. “Cas, where the hell are you?” he shouts, not caring now if he wakes Sam. “Cas? Ca—”

Vises grip his biceps tightly and he fights them off, blind in his panic. The vises become thick ropes winding around his torso. He struggles in these, too, until the end of one of the ropes strokes his hair. It’s Cas. Instantly, he relaxes, letting his full weight rest in Cas’ embrace. A flashback of a similar embrace zips through his mind, so quickly he can barely grasp it. Was that...Hell? Dean doesn’t remember anything about his rescue, but it certainly felt like he was in hell a minute ago, when he thought Cas was dead, and he felt like he was resurrected the moment he realized Cas was holding him, comforting him. Not dead. Not gone. Here.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean mumbles, backing up until Cas’ hands drop. “Nightmares. Just...you were dead. I woke up and...anyway, um, I’m fine. Gonna go back to bed, I guess. Didn’t mean to fall asleep, but maybe I need some sleep after all.” 

The hands come right back, this time turning him toward his room and walking him down the hall. They sit him down and press on his shoulders until he moves the books and lies on his back. “Thanks,” he says. “You can go now. I’m all right.”

Cas’ hands leave his shoulders, but Dean has no idea if he leaves through the open door or not. He closes his eyes, hoping that maybe Cas is watching over him. 

All the next day, Dean is jumpy and “needy,” according to Sam. But Dean’s only needy because he actually _ does _ need Sam to communicate with Cas. 

At breakfast: “Ask him if he wants coffee. Can he drink coffee like this? I can’t tell ‘cause I can’t see anything once he’s holding it.”

During research: “Did he laugh at my joke? Did he do that little sigh thing he does? Well, what did he _ say_?”

When watching a Western: “C’mon, man, you gotta translate. He always tells me what’s historically inaccurate about whatever we’re watching. Funny as hell when it’s not annoying.”

“Okay,” Sam grunts, pushing himself from the worn recliner he’d settled on when Dean insisted he had to come watch the movie. Sam hates Westerns, and furthermore, Sam probably knows it isn’t _ his _company he wanted, but Cas’, and that he needed him and that stupid, staticky radio to interact with him. “I’m done here. You figure out how to do...whatever it is you need to do. I’m going to bed.” He leaves in a huff.

“Damn it,” Dean mutters. “Well, I guess that’s that. You can head out, man. I’ll finish this and see you in the morning.” Cas, who’d been sitting on the floor by Dean’s feet since there are only two chairs in the Dean Cave (he really has to remedy that, he thinks), moves away. He misses his friend’s touch immediately, but refuses to be a pissbaby about it. After a couple of minutes of silence, though, he tentatively utters, “Cas? You still here?”

A warm weight lands on his right forearm. Cas must’ve moved to the other recliner and he was too caught up in denying that he wanted him to stay to notice the seat cushion sag with Cas’ weight. 

Dean sighs in relief, and Cas keeps his hand on his arm.

The movie’s fine, but not nearly as good as when he can talk with Cas, when he can listen to his corrections and tell him “It’s fantasy, Cas, not a documentary” and see him roll his eyes or pout or smile. It makes Dean feel out of sorts to have Cas here but not, so present but yet so out of reach. The only thing that helps is his touch, reminding Dean that he _ is _ present, that he’s still with him, right by his side. Safe. Here. In fact, Dean thinks it’s the only thing that will get him through this curse/gift thing with his sanity intact. He doesn’t want to need Cas. But he does. Oh, he does, in so many ways. And he _ really _ doesn’t want to _ ask _ him to stay, to put his own needs on Cas like that. He never has before and he won’t start now. Shouldn’t start now. And yet, for Cas’ own safety...

“So, uh, will you, um, just, stick by me and lemme know where you are? Put a hand on me or somethin’, lemme know you’re nearby and haven’t been zapped off somewhere, ‘specially when Sam isn’t around to translate?”

He gets a squeeze to his arm. He’s gonna take that as a yes.

Cas takes Dean’s request quite seriously, it seems—he walks Dean to bed that night, his hand on his back, and he stays by his bed, moving his hand to different spots on his arm whenever Dean gets too used to the feeling and can’t feel him there anymore. The next night, after Cas sticks to him like glue all day, he tells him he doesn’t have to stay in his room, that they can meet in the kitchen in the morning and Cas can sit in the same seat he was in when Dean accidentally sat in his lap so that he knows where to find him. He looks for him again during the night, though, too-real dreams about Cas’ demise still plaguing him. Cas is right where he said he’d be, and Dean thanks him for it and tells him he’s okay. Despite the reassurance, his friend walks him back to bed and sits with him again, hand on his arm. Dean sleeps better.

The following day is the same—glued-on Cas, reassured Dean—and that night, when Cas walks him to bed, Dean tells him again that he doesn’t have to stay in his room, as long as he knows where to find him if he needs to. The door closes and he sleeps with no nightmares, feeling calm and secure, almost as if Cas is right there.

Every day is the same, with no cure in sight and messages to Rowena unanswered. If Dean wasn’t able to feel Cas’ touch, he’d surely have gone insane. After Cas has been invisible for a week, Dean thinks he might go insane anyway, even with Cas touching him...or maybe because.

They aren’t strangers to touch, he and Cas. They’ve hugged, they’ve clapped hands to shoulders, and they’ve lent literal helping hands to each other. Dean has imagined touching Cas in more intimate ways, but with one calamity after another and Cas disappearing all the time, he hasn’t pursued it. Not to mention, of course, the real reason he hasn’t pursued it—his deep-seated fear of rejection and abandonment. He has so little that’s good in his life that he can’t risk screwing things up with Cas and losing him. Right now he can tell himself that Cas takes off because Heaven needs him, or the world needs him, or Jack needs him, or he’s just antsy and needs to stretch his battered wings. But if they got together and then Cas took off again...well, there would be no other reason Dean would accept other than that he screwed up somehow and Cas was rejecting him.

No. It would hurt too much, that rejection. But the touching hurts too, exquisitely—legs hooked, arms surrounding him, hands alighting on him all over like bees visiting a meadow of wildflowers. Sometimes he thinks that Cas holds him a little tighter, that his touch lingers a little longer. He chalks it up to his imagination, but it still kills him, his need for Cas’ voluntary touch of desire eating a hole in his gut. 

Another thing that threatens to drive him to the brink is their inability to really _ talk_. He’s had a few conversations with Cas through Sam, but they’re stilted and of little substance, certainly not the conversations he’s used to having with his best friend. He talks to Cas about pop culture, about history, about art and science and fishing. Sometimes he asks him for advice. Mostly they talk about a whole lot of nothing at all. It’s funny, but despite all the gut-spilling he’s done with Sam and everything they’ve been through, it’s Cas who knows him the best, just through these little talks about nothing that mean everything. He misses them. He just wants to talk to him, and to listen to him, and to maybe hold him if he’s amenable... _ nope_. Can’t go there. And he can’t talk to Cas the way he wants to in Sam’s presence. It’s too precious, too special to share.

But he can talk, even if it’s just to himself.

“Hey Cas,” Dean rumbles, voice low and eyes flicking above his head even though it’s pitch black. He’s lying spread-eagle on his bed, listening to the sound of nothing. It’s a sound he’s uncomfortable with, no distraction to his feelings and desires. “You’re out in the kitchen, and you can’t respond anyway, so I’m just gonna...talk to you for awhile. Goin’ nuts not bein’ able to talk to you for a week.” He sighs, his body sinking into his memory foam as he exhales. “I dunno if your ears are on, but, you know, you can listen if you want.” Dean talks about wrestling and poker hustles until he falls asleep. 

Cas doesn’t mention the “conversation” to Dean through Sam the next day. Dean’s not sure if he’s happy about that, but he is happy that Cas continues to reassure Dean he’s there through those gentle hands of his. When Cas doesn’t mention the next night’s conversation the following morning, either, Dean assumes he can’t hear him. It’s easier, in some ways. Knowing that Cas can’t respond and can’t hear him, combined with his longing and the dark, confessional-like quality of his room at midnight, Dean opens up. The first few nights, he talks about what he did in Hell, about the trail of pain he’s left in his wake here on Earth, things he wishes had been different about his childhood, his secret desire to learn to surf in Maui. Then, he gets bolder, and though it isn’t something he planned, he addresses something that’s been bothering him.

“I never told you, but I hate that you leave as often as you do. I get being a restless spirit or wavelength or whatever, but...people leave me, you know? And a lot of the time, they don’t come back. It gives a guy a complex. My mom died, came back, and she’s still leaving, doing her own thing. My dad left all the time, even left me somewhere once, that boys’ home. Came back, though I wasn’t too grateful for that. Now he’s dead. Sammy left me a few times, by death or by choice. Our Bobby’s gone, our Charlie’s gone, the list goes on. Even you died…” He cuts off on a choked sob, the memory painful even though Cas is alive and well. Sort of. “I can’t,” he whispers. On a few deep breaths, he sinks into the pillow, and he swears it feels like he’s kissed on his forehead as he falls asleep. 

Talking with Cas the night before—well, talking to himself and pretending he was talking to Cas—felt cathartic, and his mood is better than it has been since Cas got that damn cloak of invisibility tied on him in a knot he can’t undo. Cas’ touch seems even gentler yet more solid than Dean remembers it being before, like both an apology and a promise that he’s here and not going anywhere. Pure projection, but it makes him feel lighter nonetheless, and a little less lonely, too.

Since it worked so well last night, Dean “talks” to Cas again, going down the road he couldn’t the night before. “You died,” Dean rasps, emotions he normally shoves into the darkest, deepest part of his heart spilling out of him. “I know you were trying to do your best—we all were—but you put yourself out there like you always do and you died. I watched you die. I watched you stabbed by that bastard, I watched your light burn out, your wings…” Tears stream down his face. “I had to wrap you up, I had to burn you.” He pauses to suck down air. “You don’t know. You don’t know how long I knelt there on the ground, just thinking it had to be a nightmare. It _ was _ a nightmare, a living fucking nightmare. I...I was a mess. I couldn’t deal with Jack or think about Mom or anything...I could barely function, man. Honestly, I don’t remember much about that time, just that I...I was so fucked up, and I couldn’t do it anymore. Didn’t want to. Didn’t care about living. Even...sacrificed myself, to save some people. Billie sent me back.” He pulls the sheets to his face and wipes his eyes and nose. “So, yeah, about last night and people leaving. If you could just think before you do something st—” He stops, swallows, and tries again. “Sorry. Ain’t like you cornered the market on doing stupid things. Just...if you could maybe not leave so much or get yourself killed, you know, that’d be good. On account of everything I just said.” 

Vulnerable is not a thing Dean does well, but with Cas, it’s not too bad. Even if Cas can’t hear him.


	2. Chapter 2

Rowena finally graces them with her presence the next day. “Curious,” she says, eyeing the empty space where Cas is supposedly standing. She pulls him away from Dean’s side, where he’s been dutifully perched since Dean woke up and found him in the kitchen at the table. “He looks fine, as handsome as ever”—she caresses what Dean assumes is his face and he fights the urge to pull her hand back—“so don’t worry your wee head about that, Dean.” She side-eyes him smugly, then continues, “But this perception spell, well, it was set by a very young but very powerful warlock, and infused with deep emotion, so it is difficult to break. You have to solve the puzzle. Of course, I'm very good at puzzles.”

Dean scowls at the redhead as she sits daintily and sips her tea. “Well, you wanna give us the answer key, then?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Excuse you?”

“No.”

“And just why the hell not?”

“Guys,” Sam tries to interrupt, but Rowena waves him off.

“Because it’s a _ gift_, Dean. A true gift of the heart. But _ you _ have to unwrap it. I’d hate to ruin the surprise.”

Infuriated at her glibness, Dean stands and hovers over her. “This is not a _ joke_, Rowena. This is _ Cas_.”

“Be that as it may, I find the whole thing hilarious.”

“Dean, Rowena, can we just—”

“Well, I _ don’t _ find it hilarious!”

“I know! You’re like a wee one who’s searching the house for a birthday present and can’t find it, and now you’re pitching a wild fit. It’s adorable. Have you searched everywhere? Looked in the closet, perhaps?”

Dean slams a fist on the table, rattling her cup. “This is serious!”

She smirks at him as she raises her cup. “I suppose for some of us it is. Of course, I can see him and hear him just fine. You can’t see him or hear him, Dean?”

“You know damn well I can’t,” he growls.

“Well, now _ that’s _ something you ought to think about. Both you and your darling brother here.” She smiles a flirty smile at Sam. “Samuel, you should be able to see him.”

“I should?”

“Yes, but…” She pauses, stands, and runs her hands on a _ lot _ of Cas’ real estate. Unnecessarily, in Dean’s opinion. “Ah. Never mind.” She laughs. “It seems you are part of the gift, Samuel. Well, this is quite clever indeed. A smaller, separate puzzle for you and Castiel to solve.”

“Stop being so damn cryptic!” Dean shouts, frustrated. 

“Sorry. It’s what I do. Keeps me mysterious.” Rowena finishes her tea, keeping a calm, almost amused gaze on a frazzled Dean. “Well, I hope you figure this out soon. One can hardly expect a relationship to last when one cannot see the other. Keep that in mind.” She stands, gathering her dress. “I best be going.”

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave.”

“Don’t worry, Dean, your angel is fine, if a little frustrated and saddened at being invisible to you.” She raises an eyebrow and places a lacquered finger on his chest. “Keep _ that _ in mind.” With a flip of her hair, Rowena makes a dramatic exit. 

Once she’s gone, Dean rakes his fingers roughly through his hair. “Friggin’ secret shit. Pisses me off. Cas needs help and she’s all ‘I’m not telling you’ like it’s some sort of freakin’ game. He’s upset by being invisible. Doesn’t that matter to her?” 

Sam shrugs with his entire body. “I don’t know. Maybe, if we get desperate, she’ll come back. It’s not dangerous, at least.”

“Yeah, but he’s _ upset_. He doesn’t _ want _ to be invisible, Sam. Doesn’t that matter to _ you_?”

“Of course it matters.” He pauses, cocking his head toward the radio. “He said it’s okay.”

“It’s _ not _ okay, damn it! He shouldn’t just take this! He doesn’t _ deserve _ to be invisible!”

“Dean, we’ll figure this out—”

“When? When are we gonna figure it out, huh? Because I have no idea why you can hear him and she can hear him _ and _ see him, and I can’t do shit! Why’s it gotta be me? It’s like he’s not friggin’ here and I’m sick of him being gone! I—”

Strong arms catch him in an embrace he isn’t expecting, and he nearly stumbles onto his ass. Those arms keep him from falling, though, and after a moment of half-hearted resistance he closes his eyes and leans into him. With his eyes closed, he can feel the folds of the trenchcoat and the tickle of Cas’ hair, and he can fool himself into believing that when he opens them, Cas will be looking back with warm, clear eyes. _ Damn it_. Keeping one arm on Cas’ back, he wipes his face and wonders how much longer he has to wait to see those eyes again. He spends the rest of his afternoon and night alone.

Dean expected nightmares after Rowena’s visit—about Cas’ voice box being ripped out, or him choking on a meteor, or him being stabbed in the throat, light pouring from his body. He has none of those, but reality, when he wakes, is worse. 

First, he can’t find Cas. He beats it to the kitchen as soon as he wakes to see if maybe the spell or whatever it is has worn off since Rowena’s visit. It hasn’t. Worse, he’s not sitting at “his” seat at the table. “Cas?” he shouts as he spins, only to bump right into him. “Jesus, what are you doing behind me instead of at the table? You scared me.”

There is, of course, no response.

Second, there’s no coffee, which is a small thing, but still bad.

And third, because bad things come in threes and good things come hardly at all, Sam trots down the stairs from his morning run, ambles into the kitchen, and says, “Oh, Cas! Cool! You’re back!”

Dean drops his coffeeless mug, shattering it. “What? You can see him?”

Sam’s face pales. “Um, yeah. You can’t?”

“No, I fucking can’t!” 

“Oh.” He shifts on his feet, looking between Dean and Cas (or, to Dean, empty space) sheepishly. “Sorry.” He stops for a moment, then says, “Cas says he’s sorry, too.”

“_And _you can hear him without the fucking radio? Goddamnit!”

Dean ignores both his brother and Cas for two days, locking himself in his room with beer, chips, and headphones, before he breaks down on the second night of his self-imposed exile and talks...sort of. 

“What did I do? Had to be me, right? I mean, I’m the only one who can’t see or hear you. What do I have to do to fix it? What...this sucks.” Dean hugs his pillow as he stares into space. Cas might as well be in space right now, he thinks woefully. “This feels like a punishment, not a gift. What kind of fucked-up gift would feel this shitty? Think that stupid kid was lying through his teeth.” He clutches his pillow more tightly to himself. The loneliness that often settles in his chest feels pronounced, as if his heart is being squeezed. “Come back, please? You know what I mean. I mean, I know you’re here, just...if there’s anything you can do, anything at all, please do it. I need you.”

He screws his eyes shut against tears and swears he can feel breath drift across his face, slow and warm, from the side of the bed. It’s probably a draft, but he imagines it’s Cas watching him, comforting him. 

In the morning, Dean confronts Sam in his room. “How’d you do it?” he demands, almost accusatory.

“I don’t...know, really, except...well, I...well. I put the pieces together. Solved the puzzle. Mine and Cas’, anyway.”

“And?”

“And the next morning, I could see him.”

“_How? _”

Sam throws his hands up and sighs. “Rowena said it was a spell of perception, so I looked that up. Lot of stuff out there about that. She also said it was a gift of the heart, so I paired those two along with invisibility and narrowed things down to what made the most sense. The warlock kid...he was locked in some enchanted outbuilding we couldn’t see, right? He was invisible to everyone physically, but I thought maybe the kid _ felt _ invisible, too, emotionally. Cas told me the kid was thrilled to finally have someone see him and wanted to ‘return the favor.’”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, hear me out. If it’s a spell of perception having to do with the heart, and the kid was feeling unseen, that means it probably has to do with love and his perception of it, or something. I tried to figure out how that related to you and Cas, because it seems to revolve around you guys. Being invisible...not seen...I...had a theory, and I took a leap and asked Cas about my theory. He confirmed that I was right, and I told him I’d always seen him that way and that he...not that he needed it, but he had my blessing. And the next morning, there he was behind you.”

“Blessing? For what? What was your theory? Why is he invisible?”

“He’s invisible because—” Sam stops speaking and frowns. He tries to speak again, frowns, then says “purple poke cake” and frowns again. “I guess I can’t tell you,” he says.

“Son of a fucking _ bitch_! What the hell!”

“I’m sorry! I guess you’ll just have to figure it out on your own.”

“I _ do not need _ this bullshit!” He stomps down the hall to the kitchen, where Cas is waiting for him. He yanks him up by what he thinks is his trenchcoat, though he has to search him out with his hands first. “Why are you invisible?” he shouts. “How does Sam see you? Why do you need his blessing? _ Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t I see you? _”

Cas grasps his arms. Dean tears himself out of his hold, makes a frustrated noise, and storms to his room, slamming the door behind him.

It’s a long time before the door opens quietly. Drowsy from worry and exhaustion and feeling like an asshole for blowing up at Cas, Dean doesn’t even turn. He knows it’s Sam, and he hopes that if he ignores him and pretends to be asleep that he’ll go away instead of forcing him into a damn heart-to-heart. The mattress bows as Sam sits on the edge of his bed, at his back. After a few minutes, Dean gets annoyed. _ Why isn’t he leaving? _ He’s about to tell him off when he feels him lie down. A hand rests on his bicep...a large hand, but smaller than his brother’s basketball-sized mitts. _ Cas. _

Shame for his outburst, elation because Cas is here, and arousal because Cas is touching him stir hotly in his veins. They’ve touched many times, but not lying in bed together, Cas’ hand on his bare skin and his breath ghosting across his neck. He’s wanted this. Dreamed of this. Dreamed of more. He bites his lip. What now? 

Don’t waste an opportunity, that’s what now.

Dean hums and rolls over, still pretending to be asleep. Cas’ hand moves quickly, and the mattress shifts as if he rolled away. Dean pretends to be bothered by the sudden loss of comfort, searching for it in his “sleep.” When he finds Cas’ hand, he clutches it and sighs. It relaxes in his hold, then curls around his fingers. Dean feels content—almost sparkly, if Dean Winchester ever sparkled. 

Though Cas had woken him from a light doze, he can’t fall back asleep now, the hour much too early and his excitement much too high. Yet if he doesn’t pretend to be asleep, Cas might let go, and he doesn’t want that, either. He holds as still as his always-amped body will allow. 

Minutes pass that feel like hours, but would feel like seconds if he was only allowed to _ touch _ Cas the way he’d like. He pretends to stir again and snuggles closer; soft locks tickle his nose. He sighs. Should he confess? It’s not right to pretend, and yet Cas isn’t trying to move away. Dean’s even given him chances, making sure he doesn’t have Cas’ arm or coat pinned. He doesn’t move, and in fact, gets closer. 

Dean’s mind wanders. Could he ask Cas to do this for him at night, to stay with him? Would he mind? “Talking” to him is great and all, but feeling him right here with him does a hell of a lot more for his heart. (Not to mention his libido, but that’s another issue.) He wonders what Cas would say, if he’d agree because he feels obligated or like he has to be useful. Cas is always worried about that, being useful. Then he wonders why Cas came to do this in the first place. _ He _ made the move. _ He _came in, lay down, held Dean’s arm, even though Dean had been a major league asshole to him a little while ago. Why would he do all of it if he wasn’t willing? 

Dean feels the opposite of rejection. 

He can’t identify it by name at first, just that it’s not rejection, but as it blooms in his chest, the words come—acceptance, seeking, choice. Want.

Cas _ wanted _ to be here, _ wanted _to give this to Dean. Maybe it was just to be nice, to comfort him as friends do, but maybe...is it possible that Cas could want…

There’s a knock. “Dean? Made lunch. You comin’?”

Cas scrambles out of their cuddle. _ Damn it. _ Thinking that Cas won’t return any time soon, he sits up and stretches, pretending Sam woke him. “Yeah, yeah, keep your panties on.”

Sam lets himself in. “Don’t be a jerk. You—” He stops and stares at an empty space near the wall, close to the bed. Well, probably not empty. “Uh, Cas—” He stops again, staring at that same space, then says, “is nowhere to be found. Know where he went off to?”

_ Oh. Cas doesn’t want me to know he was here. Why? _ “Dunno. I’ve been in here.”

“Okaaaay. Well, I’m sure he’s around.” He quirks a quick smile and leaves in a hurry, keeping the door wide open. _ Interesting_.

When he shuffles to the kitchen, Sam says, “Found him.” He hands him a ham sandwich as he nods toward the table, then beats it out of there in a hurry. Dean looks after him. Say as little as possible and get out as quickly as you can—those are two of the rules of lying. His behavior only confirms that something’s up between him and Cas, that he’s covering for him and that they’re both in on it. 

Dean feels around until he finds Cas at his usual seat, as if he never left. “Hey, there you are,” he says, as if he’s none the wiser. Two can play at this game...whatever the game is. His hand, which came to rest at the back of Cas' neck, doesn’t move. “You been out here for a while?”

He feels Cas’ head move in a noncommittal nod-shake. 

Because he’d been an asshole to him—and because the last couple of hours have given him many puzzle pieces to sort—he lets Cas off the hook. For now. “Sam had been looking for you, that’s all. Funny that you can still hide from him even though you’re fully visible to him. You'd be killer at Hide and Seek.” 

A tiny jiggle and a bend of his neck tells Dean that he’s chuckling. He decides to test the waters a bit. If it fails, he can always tell him he was just trying to figure out Cas’ response. Dean slides his hand from the back of his neck, to the bolt of his jaw, to the corner of his mouth. Slow. Easy. Sensual. Because Cas can see him just fine, Dean has to remember not to look incredibly turned on—which, considering how incredibly turned on he is, is a difficult feat. “You’re doing your Cas laugh,” he observes. He feels a fond smile for his friend spread across his face. _ That _ he can’t help. Not right now. When they’re in the middle of some world-shaking calamity or life-threatening catastrophe—also known as Tuesday in their lives—it’s easy to mask his affection. There’s too much on the line. But in these moments of quiet, when it’s just the two of them and he hopes for a future together, it’s much, much harder. He’s most himself when he’s with Cas, and that self...well, that self can’t contain everything he feels, despite his fears. 

Sometimes he wishes he was more like that self. 

Cas takes Dean’s free hand and lays his thumb on his face. Dean feels two ridges of skin rise under the pad of his thumb. He must be pinching his brows. He’s trying to tell Dean he’s confused. “What? The Cas laugh?” He feels the tug of Cas’ skin as he nods. “That’s when you smile and bow your head, and you make this little sound, a little whuff, like...a horse, but smaller, quieter.” Cas’ brow furrows under his thumb again. Dean shrugs, feeling self-conscious. “I mean, I dunno, it’s just...one of the things I’ve noticed about you.” He pinches the corner of his mouth, but it comes off as fond. He can’t help it.

Cas’ mouth twitches. His brow smooths. His head dips. And then, Dean _ hears _ it—a tiny but unmistakable whuff. 

He pretends he didn’t. 

After scarfing down lunch, Dean informs Sam and Cas that he’s going for a supply run. He does, but detours on his way back. There’s a tiny, white chapel in Lebanon—the U.S. Center Chapel. It’s “touristy,” as much as Lebanon gets touristy. He parks and is pleased to see that he’s alone. There are small benches on either side of the chapel, and he parks his ass on one of them and stares at the cloud-streaked sky. 

Dean doesn’t like to ponder too much. He’s a doer. A manipulator. A hands-on sort of guy. The “puzzle” that this bratty teen with a God complex dropped in his lap is designed like a riddle, and he can’t manipulate the pieces the way he wants in order to solve it. But if he wants Cas back, he has to. So, he stares at the clouds and pretends they’re pieces, and he tries to see how they all fit together.

_ I’m the only one who can’t see Cas. _

_ It’s not a curse, but rather, a gift of the heart. _

_ It’s a spell of perception, infused with deep emotion. _

_ It’s our gift, but I have to unwrap it. Cas can’t break the spell. _

_ It’s an invisibility spell. The kid felt invisible. _

_ Rowena told me to keep in mind that a relationship won’t last when one person can’t see the other person. She also said that Cas feels frustrated and sad at being invisible to me. _

_ Sam couldn’t see Cas, and could barely hear him, but they talked. Sam said he’d “always seen him that way”—what does that mean?—and he gave him his blessing and then he could see and hear him just fine. _

Dean puffs his cheeks, then exhales harshly. He drops his head, rubbing the tension out of his neck. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he moans to himself. “Whose heart? Whose perception? Why am I the only fucking person who can’t see him?”

_ I heard Cas laugh. _

“Why? Why did I hear him laugh? What was different?”

As hard as he tries, the pieces refuse to come together. “Fuck,” he mumbles.

Dean lifts his face to the sky and crosses his eyes, making the clouds double in his vision. Since he’s not getting anywhere with these questions, he lets his lids close and his mind wander to the question he never answered for himself earlier: Is it possible that Cas could want more?

_ Cas willingly agreed to stay in contact by touching me. _

_ I didn’t have any nightmares when Cas spent those couple of nights with me. _

_ I haven’t had any nightmares lately. _

_ I swear I’ve felt breath or a tap on my forehead when no one’s there. _

_ Cas hasn’t backed away from my touch. Has _ ** _never_ ** _ backed away from my touch. Sometimes it feels like his touch lingers. _

_ Cas _ ** _chose_ ** _ to lie with me, _ ** _chose_ ** _ to touch me. _

_ Cas didn’t want me to know he was there. _

His heart races. Is it possible that Cas likes touching him? _ Wants _ to touch him? Stays close by even when Dean tells him he doesn’t have to? Has stayed by him this entire time, and that’s why he hasn’t had nightmares recently? And did he, maybe, think that Dean would be upset to know he stayed, to know he was so close, and so he urged Sam not to say anything?

Only one way to find out. Well, probably more ways, and way more subtle ones, but this one is definitely more fun, and Dean’s always been a pretty brash guy. Plus, if it goes awry, he can plead ignorance of Cas’ presence. Perfect. And if it goes right..._damn _perfect.

Dean heads home and gets Sam to help him with the supplies in the car, then sets about making dinner. He apologizes to both Cas and Sam for his outburst. Ordinarily he’d just sweep it under the rug—they all would; it’s the Winchester way—but he wants things to be as calm and harmonious as possible for later. 

“What is your problem?” Sam asks as Dean fake-yawns for the fourth time while they’re watching some chick flick Sam picked. (Dean’s already seen it, but his brother doesn’t have to know that.) 

“Just beat,” he says. He glances at his phone. 9:00. Good enough. “I’m heading to bed. Gotta hit the books again tomorrow. And if this thing ain’t solved in the next few days, I’m hunting down that little bastard myself.” He stretches once for good measure, then heads down the hall to the bathroom, making sure his bedroom door is wide open for any invisible angels named Castiel to sneak in. When he returns, he makes a show of closing the door and locking it, then humming to himself as he strips his clothes off until he’s nude. He doesn’t hear anything, but he can _ feel _ the tension in the air. He hopes he’s not imagining it. 

Dean pretends to try to sleep so that Cas, if he’s here, will come near him. If he’s right, then Cas has been standing or sitting nearby. The chair from the nights he knows Cas stayed with him is still by his bed. Dean “gives up” his attempt to sleep after half an hour, but tries not to sound too put out about it so that Cas doesn’t zap him into dreamland. Turning a small light on, he reaches under his bed for his box of goodies. His lube is about half empty. If things go the way he’d like them to, he’ll have to buy a new one very soon. He lays it beside him, then pushes his covers down until his cock is fully visible. He takes himself in hand.

Exhibitionism is not a kink he thought he had. But when Cas is the voyeur...well, he can’t fake his flushed skin, the tingle in his veins, or the fullness of his cock, and he doesn’t have to fake those moans he’s making. He tries not to get his hopes up that Cas is enjoying this, or that he’s at least watching with those intense blue eyes, or that he’s even here. Dean’s fantasized this enough to get off whether he is or isn’t. But now that the thought that Cas _ isn’t _ here takes root, he starts to feel a little foolish. How can he figure out whether the angel is here, watching him, without tipping off that he’s pretty certain he is? 

Dean takes the biggest risk of their relationship. “Cas,” he moans quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut. 

An audible intake of breath echoes back.

Dean bites his lip so he doesn’t react. _He’s here._ _He’s here, but...was it a gasp of pleasure or disgust?_

Again, Dean moans his name, louder this time. He rolls his head on the pillow and clutches his hair. 

“Dean” is the whispered response, and Dean nearly loses it—he’s hearing his best friend’s voice again, and the first word he hears is a dirty, breathy utterance of his own name. That confirmation—his name on Cas’ lips, dripping with desire—pushes him into overdrive. 

Quickly, he searches out the lube and coats his fingers, then grasps his cock once again. Now that he knows Cas is watching _ and _ turned on, he puts on a show like he never has for any partner before--biting and licking his lips until they’re red and swollen, tweaking his nipples until the pinch makes him gasp, and jacking himself relentlessly, the lube squelching a dirty song as Dean cries out a chorus of “Cas, Cas, oh fuck, Cas” to accompany it. He’s careful not to be _ too _ noisy, though, because he wants to hear his angel.

It’s mostly panting and breathy whimpers from the chair until a strangled, stuttered gasp tells him that Cas came, and then there’s no stopping the orgasm that barrels into him, mows him down, and backs up to do it again. Dean hopes the walls are as thick as he thinks they are, because getting off this loud and hard when he’s supposed to be alone isn’t something he wants to explain to his brother. Though, if he has his way, it’s something Sam will need to get used to, anyway. 

Dean’s happy as a pig in mud when he sits up. He sighs, deep and dreamy, then searches around his bed for tissues, finding the box on the floor. Upon hearing Cas’ return sigh, he pauses. It’s not an afterglow sort of sigh, that honey-soaked hum of satisfaction. No, it’s a sigh of...well, something else. He focuses on looking pleased with himself as he rises from the floor and plucks a few tissues out, even though his glow is rapidly dulling as he begins to worry. Cleaned up as best as he can be, Dean burrows under his covers to sleep. His mind has other ideas, though, and after an hour, he gets up and uses the bathroom to stretch his legs and get a change of scenery. 

When he returns, he can tell Cas is gone.

He blames himself.

It’s a sleepless night.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Cas isn’t where he usually is, and Dean panics.

“He went for a drive,” Sam informs him, coming up behind and around him to get juice from the refrigerator.

“Mr. Invisible went for a drive? Doesn’t that seem a little dangerous?” At his brother’s puzzled look, Dean clarifies, “Truck driving itself? People are gonna be freaked out to see a truck moving with no one behind the wheel.”

Sam levels him with hazel eyes. “He’s only invisible to you, Dean.”

Rubbing the heel of his hand on his forehead, Dean sighs. “Right. Shit.”

“What’d you do?”

“What do you mean? Who says I did anything?”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut your cakehole.” Dean scowls and paces the floor. “We gotta find that stupid kid. He—wait, did Cas say something to you?”

“Not a word except to say he was going out for a drive.”

“How’d he look?”

“Like he always does? Broody?” 

“But, like, broodier than usual?”

“He barely made eye contact with me. So, what did you do?”

Dean ignores the question and asks instead, “Do you think Cas has a thing for me?”

The tangential question clearly throws his brother off. “What?”

“Do you?”

“Uh...do you?”

“I thought maybe, but now...I’m not so sure.”

“And, uh,” Sam starts. His eyes dart around until they settle just past Dean’s shoulder. “How would you feel about that?”

“I—well, I...” _ Say it, Winchester! _ He takes a breath. It’s not telling Sam he’s a man attracted to another man (gender-free angel in a male-presenting body, whatever) that’s the problem, nor that he wants to bang that man on every surface in the bunker. There probably isn’t much that Sam would be surprised about in terms of Dean’s sex life. It’s telling him the rest of it that makes him choke up, because allowing himself to believe it might be possible is new. “I want that. I want Cas to have a thing for me.”

Sam nods. “Uh huh. And how are you defining ‘thing’?”

“I want it all, Sam,” Dean admits. “The whole kit and caboodle.” 

“All of that”—he gestures along Dean’s body—”or that and more?”

“All of everything.”

“You mean—”

Quietly, Dean stops his brother. “Sam. Don’t make me say it to you first. Those words belong to Cas.”

Surprised, then beaming, his gargantuan brother envelops him in an equally gargantuan hug. “You’re right. But say them. Don’t—don’t put it off.”

“Right.”

He does put it off for a couple of days because, though Cas comes back and hangs around, staying nearby and making sure he’s within Dean’s reach, he’s not nearly as enthusiastic about it as before. He’s also pretty certain that Cas isn’t in his room at night, because he has nightmares and finds him much too easily in the kitchen. Guilt settles in the growing distance between them. Clearly (no pun intended) he made Cas uncomfortable with his bold sexual display the other night. He could’ve sworn Cas wanted it, and Heaven and Hell both know Dean did, but now, considering that maybe Cas didn’t want it the way he thought, shame and embarrassment flood him. He got off on Cas being in the room, on hearing Cas’ reactions, and Cas didn’t even know that Dean knew he was there. Furthermore, Cas was trapped in the room. The entire thought makes him sweat. Poor Cas is avoiding him now, unable to face him after what Dean did. He wishes he could run away, could take everything back. 

_ “It’s not always about you, Dean.” _

The memory springs up suddenly, startling him. They were heading back from Arkansas a few months ago, where they’d dealt with a wraith. They stopped at Lake Fayetteville to rest, and while Sam was still asleep, Cas sat with Dean against the front of the Impala and discussed the case as they watched the first rays of light kiss the surface of the water. 

_ “Feels like it is.” _

_ “That’s because you’re conditioned to take the blame. But other people’s choices, their feelings...my experience with humans is that they tend to think they have more influence over others than they do. That woman ran into danger to save her girlfriend because she wanted to, not because you didn’t warn her off hard enough. Sometimes people have feelings and make choices all...by...themselves.” He said the last words with an edge of soft snark, teasing him in a way he’d done more and more over the years. _

_ “But sometimes it is about me, something I did or didn’t do.” _

_ “Yes. But many times it isn’t. They’re having their feelings and making choices because of things going on within them.” _

_ “Since when did you get good at people?” _

_ “I’ve been reading a lot of self-help books.” _

That one made Dean laugh.

_ “All I'm saying is that, the next time you feel like something’s your fault, take yourself out of it. Put yourself in their shoes. See if it changes your perspective.” _

Since that conversation, Dean’s been practicing. He does feel a little better, the constant shame at being responsible for the shit in other people’s lives abating. So he puts himself in Cas’ shoes and tries to see it from his perspective. 

_ Cas came in on his own, after being there for many nights without me knowing. _

_ Cas got trapped in the room because of his own choice. _

_ Cas never made himself known when I locked the door, or any time after that. _

_ Knowing I didn’t know he was there, Cas watched me anyway. _

_ He liked it. _

_ He got off on it. _

“Oh, shit, he’s fucking ashamed,” Dean concludes aloud. “No wonder he’s avoiding me.”

Cool relief washes away his anxiety and doubt. He decides he has to come clean—about that night and about his feelings. 

“Hey,” Dean says to get Cas’ attention that night, reaching out to find an invisible arm to tap. Usually, when they watch TV in the Cave, he peeks at Cas’ face in the blue glow of the screen every so often. Just to watch him. He can’t now, and he misses it. “Um, I’m pretty beat. Been having nightmares, so, you know. Pretty exhausted.”

The arm moves from under him and his hand slides over Dean’s to give it a quick pat of understanding. Dean stands and tugs Cas along by his sleeve toward the bedrooms. When they reach Dean’s, he feels Cas turn away from his grasp, probably to head toward the kitchen. 

“Um, you can…” He’s not sure how to entice him into his room, so he goes for Cas’ weakness: his need to be useful. “Can you come in for a little bit, help with the nightmares? I mean, don’t zap me to sleep, just...be there? Always do better when you’re around.”

He hears Cas sigh and mutter, “You wouldn’t want me around if you knew,” which confirms his theory that Cas feels guilty. He has to pretend not to hear him, though, at least a little longer, so he feels around until he finds his face, on the pretense that he has to feel him nod or shake his head. “C’mon. Don’t make me beg, man.”

A tiny groan escapes Cas’ lips, and _ oh_, Dean is definitely tucking _ that _ little kink of Cas’ away for later. He feels him nod, so he turns and leads him into the bedroom. He strips to boxers this time, not wanting to scare Cas off, then leaves him for a moment to take care of his bathroom needs. When he returns, he settles into bed. He reaches out toward the chair perched near his bed, but Cas isn’t there. “Cas?”

Out of bed in a flash, he reaches out frantically, like a child lost in a haunted house in an amusement park (if that kid only knew that the _ real _ ghosts attack instead of waiting to be sought out). “Cas?” He bumps into Cas’ chest between the bed and the door. “Shit, were you standing by the door? Don’t freak me out like that; you know I’m edgy ‘cause I can’t see you. Come over here.” He drags him by the button placket of his shirt to the chair next to the bed. “Just, sit there. Please. Okay?”

Dean climbs into bed and confirms Cas’ presence with a hand on his knee.

_ Now what? _

_ Action, that’s what. _

He pretends to try to sleep, rubbing his thumb in circles on Cas’ kneecap. Cas lands a hand on his shoulder; the contact feels so good that he thinks he probably _ could _fall asleep. He fights hard against that; he has a bigger mission tonight. When he thinks he’s tried a respectable amount of time, he clears his throat. “Cas? This ain’t workin’. Will you, uh, come lie down with me?”

There’s a long pause before Dean’s hand falls from Cas’ knee as he stands. A moment later, Cas is lying next to him. _ Holy shit, he’s in my bed, and this time there’s no pretending. _ Dean reaches out to find Cas’ hand; his hands are folded primly on what he assumes is Cas’ abdomen. “Fuck’s sake, Cas, you don’t have to lie there like a corpse,” he jokes. “Kinda need the physical contact here, man. For the nightmares.” The bed creaks as Cas shifts, then lays a hand on his shoulder stiffly. Dean lets this happen for a few minutes, closing his eyes and pretending to attempt sleep once again, before he can’t do it anymore. “Cas, roll over.”

The hand on his shoulder is removed immediately. Dean feels along his body and finds him in coffin position once again. He sighs and rolls Cas onto his side, then fits himself behind him, tucking one arm around Cas’ middle and the other behind his neck. It’s weird, not being able to see who he’s holding, but when he closes his eyes he feels the wisps of hair against his face, the trenchcoat against his chest, the slacks against his legs, and the feeling of _ Cas _ settles into his body, making him warm and relaxed. Well, warm for sure. Relaxed, he would undoubtedly be...if Cas weren’t a statue in his arms, rigid and unmoving. He’s not even sure he’s felt him breathe—not that the guy needs to, probably, but still. 

Dean hopes that Cas will loosen up once he realizes how content and loose Dean is, but he doesn’t. For a moment, Dean’s self-deprecating mind considers that maybe he’s wrong about everything. But then he remembers just how much work it takes to perform, to pretend, to put that mask on when something you really want is within your reach but you feel like you can’t have it. From Cas’ perspective, perhaps his guilt is keeping him from truly enjoying this and seeing what happens. So as difficult as it is, and as much as he knows what he does next will change their relationship forever, he does it—so that they can both take off their masks and stop pretending.

“Cas.” He noses at Cas’ ear. “Cas. I know you were here. The other night.”

The angel gasps and starts to pull away from his arms. 

“It’s okay,” he hurries to add, holding firm. “It’s okay. I wanted you to be. That, uh...what I did. It was for you.”

Dean feels Cas shift in his arms to face him. He doesn’t say a word, but he knows Cas is listening intensely, as he always does. 

“I wanted you, Cas, but I didn’t want to scare you. Maybe it was stupid, but you know me.”

A tiny, frustrated growl rumbles in Cas’ throat, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I know, don’t get all growly.”

This time, Cas stiffens. “You can hear me?”

_ Shit. _ “Um, yeah, I was gettin’ to that. I can. When we were talking a few days ago about your laugh, I heard it. I heard you laugh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Can you see me?” There’s an edge to his voice, a little righteous anger at having been deceived. Dean feels simultaneously guilty and aroused by it.

“No, I can’t see you,” he answers quickly, mournfully. Cas relaxes minutely. “And as for why I didn’t tell you...I was tryin’ to figure out what I did differently to make me hear you. It had to be something, ‘cause something triggered it with Sam and not me, and I figured it wasn’t just the spell wearin’ off or something. So I thought about it, and I thought about you bein’ in my room with me, just lying down and holding my hand, and—”

“You knew I was there then, too?”

_ Wow, just keep stepping deeper and deeper into the shit. _ “Yes, but just let me get all this out at once, okay?”

He gets silence as a response.

“Okay, look. So yeah, I figured out that you came to see me, and that you probably snuck into my room and stayed with me those other nights, too, the ones where I wasn’t dreamin’ of you getting your voice ripped out or being hurled into the sun. And you touched me, and I wanted that, okay? I wanted that. So I pretended to be asleep to keep you there. And then Sam came in, and something happened between you guys and I figured maybe you didn’t want me knowing you were there, so I tried to think of a way to let you know I did want you here. With me. In my bed.”

Cas still isn’t speaking, but he’s breathing, at least.

“I thought maybe you...fuck, this might sound stupid now, but I thought maybe you wanted me, like I wanted you. Like I’ve wanted you for a long time. So I decided to show you.”

“You...knew I was there. You did all of that on purpose. To show me you wanted me.”

“Yeah.” 

“And you could hear me the whole time.”

Dean smirks. “Uh huh.”

“Oh.”

Feeling Cas pull away again, Dean reaches into the empty space and finds his arm. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, come on. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, Cas. When you came, I lost it, and it was because of you. You did that to me.”

“I did?”

“You did.” He pauses to find and stroke his cheek. “I was gonna say something right after, but you sounded upset, so I didn’t.”

“I was ashamed.”

“For what?”

“For enjoying you in that fashion without your knowledge or permission.”

“Cas, I was calling _ your _ name.”

“Still. In my observations of humans and what I’ve seen on TV, sometimes they just want the fantasy, not the reality.”

Dean scrutinizes the blank space in front of him. Damn, he wishes he could see Cas’ eyes. “You thought that was just a fantasy for me?”

Against the arm that’s tucked under Cas’ neck, he feels him shrug. “Pornography is fantasy, and you seem to enjoy that. You’ve spoken of other fantasies involving various celebrities and fictional characters. A fantasy about a friend would not be out of the realm of possibility, and not even particularly outlandish. Nor would fantasizing about experimenting with someone of the same gender. I would probably be a safe choice in those regards, so yes, I thought that it was a fantasy.”

Almost angry, Dean growls, “You thought wrong,” then finds his mouth with the hand still on Cas’ cheek and smashes their lips together. He swallows Cas’ cry of surprise as he plunges his tongue into Cas’ mouth. His own cry of surprise is muffled a second later when Cas kisses back, hot and dirty. Invisible hands grasp his shoulders, his face, his hair, and he closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions and hormones sprinting through his body. 

“You want me,” Cas rasps when they part for Dean to breathe.

“I want you,” Dean answers the space in front of him, a space that’s full of Cas even if he can’t see him.

Dean hears the rustle of the trenchcoat as Cas removes it, followed by the swish of his suit jacket. There’s a too-long pause then; Cas is probably unbuttoning his shirt. Unbuttoning his shirt means they aren’t touching each other, and Dean can’t stand it. “Let me,” he says, even though he can’t see what he’s doing. He does it by feel alone, groaning as Cas’ unseeable hands ruffle his hair and send goosebumps down his arms. He lets Cas take off his own shirt when it’s undone while he works on Cas’ belt. Cas barely lets him, distracting him with sloppy sucks of his neck and chest that have Dean’s eyes rolling back. He tries to return the favor while wiggling the strap of his belt from the buckle, but bumps Cas’ nose awkwardly instead. They laugh and slow down, Cas letting him be until his pants and socks are off. 

“No shoes?” 

“I took them off when Sam started waving the angel blade around after I arrived. I wasn’t sure what you could hear, if anything, but it was clear you couldn’t hear my voice, and since the Winchesters tend to have a ‘kill first’ policy, I decided that complete silence was my friend at that time.”

“Yeah.” Dean huffs a small laugh. “Guess that explains why I didn’t hear you walking around once I could hear you again.”

“Yes. It helped me move around without disturbing anyone.”

“That came in handy, hmm?” 

“Dean—”

“Shut up. I don’t care that you were in my room.” 

Dean pulls Cas to him again, finding his mouth by feeling and kissing him like he’d never see him again. Which could technically be true. They wiggle out of their boxers and groan twin sighs of ecstasy when their cocks brush. “Dean,” Cas rumbles desperately.

“I got you.” He kisses the hollow under his ear as he takes their cocks in hand, not even bothering with lube. The fullness of two swollen cocks in his hold makes him moan, and Cas’ moan in response shouldn’t even be legal. He’s too close, too fast, and soon Cas is pulling out of his grip.

“Not yet,” Cas says. Dean is totally on board with that.

Being with Cas is like being blindfolded. He can’t see what Cas will do next, and Cas seems to delight in it. Sometimes Cas tweaks or sucks his nipple. Sometimes he runs his tongue up the inside of his thigh. Once he tickles his feet, making them both laugh. He hates being tickled, but he loves that rare belly laugh so much, he’s willing to squirm his way through it. It doesn’t last, anyway, Cas never going far enough to make Dean truly uncomfortable. Cas is a kiss ninja, pressing them here, there, and everywhere without any pattern. Then, Cas takes Dean’s cock in his large, strong hand, pumping it with unpracticed but _ very _ effective moves. It feels fantastic, even better than he always imagined it would. He watches, fascinated, as his cock seems to move on its own, stimulating itself. What a cool party trick that would be, he thinks briefly. He doesn’t think anything after that, because a warm, wet sensation surrounds his cock. That sensation, along with the visual of seeing nothing there while feeling everything, drives him to the edge, and knowing that sensation is Cas has him screaming through a powerful orgasm. 

He’s still glassy-eyed and loose-limbed when he hears Cas above him, moaning as he jostles the bed. When Dean finally puts two and two together and becomes coherent enough to give Cas his own orgasm, he stretches his hand out to find him, only to hear Cas cry out sharply and feel a warm liquid splash onto his belly and chest. Dean’s cock twitches valiantly as Dean realizes that Cas has come on him. He rubs it down his pecs and abs, unable to see it but definitely feeling it on his palms and fingers. He searches out Cas’ face, and when he finds it, pulls him down into a kiss. They hum happily into each other’s mouths. Dean feels a zing of grace that has them both clean instantly. “Now _ that’s _ a cool party trick,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He smiles at where he thinks Cas’ face is. “Stay?”

“Yes.”

Dean cuddles into him, hoping that in the morning, he’ll be able to see Cas again.

But he doesn’t.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself. He thought that maybe, if Cas saw that he wanted him, it would “open the gift” or whatever. But he’s here and safe, he reminds himself, and that’s what counts.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few nights are filled with loud, mind-blowing sex—much to Sam’s chagrin—and the next few days are filled with research and giving technical assistance to other hunters. All the while, Cas is invisible, and the pimply warlock is nowhere to be found (Dean’s looked, at least as much as he can without leaving the bunker). 

“We gotta find that snot-nosed brat,” Dean grumbles, nearly four weeks into Cas’ ordeal. “Tomorrow, we’re gonna go find Rowena, see if she can cook up a location spell or something. He’s probably at some mall or wherever teenagers hang out now.” 

“Thought you didn’t want to leave Cas alone in the bunker,” Sam teases, making a sad face. 

“Shut up. He can take care of himself here, and we gotta get this thing unraveled.”

“I can—”

“You can’t, Cas. I know everyone else can see you, but if I can’t see you, I can’t have you going.”

“I can be use—”

“Not about being useful. It’s about safety. If I can’t see you, I could hurt you.” Cas sighs, and Dean reaches out for his face. “Hey. I’m sorry, okay? I just need you to be safe. You—” Dean stops, remembering. He lowers his voice so Sam can’t hear. “You heard me talking to you, didn’t you? When you weren’t supposed to be in the room?”

There’s no answer, but he can feel Cas nod.

“Okay. Then you know why I can’t put you in danger, ‘specially not now.”

Cas sighs again, and Dean sighs, too, dropping his hands to his shoulders.

“Look, you goin’ stir crazy? Need to flap your wings? Me too. Let’s get out of this bubble and go out.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Something...something nice. Look, everyone else can see you, right? So it won’t look like I’m talkin’ to myself?”

“I believe so. I did not get strange looks when I was driving back from the warlock hunt you left me at.”

“We couldn’t see or hear you! We thought you left!”

Cas snickers.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”

“In different words, but yes.”

“Brat.” Dean pinches his bicep. “All right.” He glances at the ceiling, pondering his options, then drops his eyes to where he thinks Cas’ are. He thumbs at his face to make sure, then, satisfied, says, “Meet me in Baby in an hour, okay?”

One hour later, he finds Cas in the passenger seat of Baby. Knowing Cas, he probably had the time down to the millisecond based on some universal time formula Dean can’t hope to understand. “Ready to go?”

“My presence would indicate I am, wouldn’t it?”

“Ass.” He smiles fondly. “Let’s go.”

Dean drives them to Glen Elder State Park. It’s a sunny day, the temperatures mild but the people few since it’s still early in the season for camping. He beckons Cas to his side, then feels around until he finds him to his left. “You wanna be useful? Take this,” he demands, handing him an old wool Army blanket. He grabs the cooler and slams the trunk shut, then finds Cas’ hand and leads him to the lake. Cas drops the blanket onto a picnic table. Dean follows his lead, swinging the cooler onto the table with a _ thunk_. “Guess we didn’t need the blanket,” he comments. 

Dean pulls out a beer for each of them, then some sandwiches and fruit. “I know it ain’t much, but I also know you don’t eat and I have to. Figured it probably gets boring for you to sit and watch us puny humans, so I kept it simple.” He shrugs, smiling when Cas chuckles, and assumes Cas is partaking of the meal when a sandwich disappears from the plate. He likes it when Cas eats, even if he doesn’t have to. Maybe especially because he doesn’t have to. “Tell me about time,” he says, and soon he’s caught up in everything Cas—his seriousness, his humor, his cosmic knowledge and perspective on the world.

He’s missed this so much.

When they’re through, they make use of the blanket, lying on top of it and letting the sun warm their faces. Cas told him once that, when he returned from the Empty, lifting his face to the sun was the first thing that made him feel alive again. Dean pulls him closer and tries to forget the time when Cas was gone, then about the deal Cas made with the Shadow to save Jack. Thank God they got him out of _ that _ one. He aims for his cheek and kisses his nose instead when Cas turns his head, and they both giggle at the happy error. Dean shows him shapes in the clouds, and Cas comments on how creative humans are.

Glancing at his phone for the time, he gets up and tugs Cas with him. They clean up, then pile back into the car. Cas lets out a grunt of surprise when they stop at a place in the middle of Cawker City that looks like a cottage plunked onto the middle of Main Street. 

“What’s this?”

“Massage,” Dean answers.

“Are you tense?”

“Always,” he jokes, though it falls flat. “I mean, I’d be a hell of a lot more relaxed if you...you know, but it’s all good. Anyway, I booked one for you.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. Not like I'm experienced in this stuff anyway, but, you know, I wanted to do something I thought you might enjoy. I mean, no deep tissue massage they can do will get to those angelic muscles in your true form or whatever, but I thought this would come close. ‘Cause, you know, you don’t treat yourself. You don’t do stuff for you. It’s always for humanity or Heaven or me and Sam or whoever. So, yeah. Somethin’ for you.”

“Dean,” Cas says. His name always means something in Cas’ mouth, and he never gets sick of it. He can almost see his pink lips forming the sound.

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs shyly. He opens the door for Cas, who he assumes steps inside. 

They approach the reception desk and a woman greets them. “Ah, is one of you Castiel?” she smiles.

“This is him,” Dean smiles in return, his hand finding Cas’ back. “Treat ‘im right.”

“We certainly will,” she says. “We are going to completely spoil your boyfriend.”

“Good. He deserves it,” he says as Cas’ breath stutters. “I’ll be out here.”

He reads old copies of _ Cosmopolitan _ while he waits, humming to himself. Other people come in—mostly women, he notes. They smile at him, and a couple give him the once-over, but there’s only one person—angel—he has eyes for now. Even if he can’t see him.

An hour later, the massage therapist comes out, chatting with Cas (though she looks like she’s talking to an imaginary friend). He meets them at the counter to pay, bumping into Cas and sliding his free arm around him to cover up his bumbling. A press of lips lands on his temple, warming him in a way that has nothing to do with Cas’ constant temperature. It’s been a long time since Dean was offered genuine affection from a partner, free of demand or expectation. It’s been even longer since he let himself feel it and believe in it. Maybe never. He turns and finds Cas’ nose, leading him naturally to his mouth to return the sentiment. They join hands to walk out, and that small action confirms what he already knew but wouldn’t let himself hope for: that he wants Cas by his side, in every way, for as long as he can. He thinks that maybe, if he doesn’t screw it up, he has a fighting chance. 

“That was magnificent,” Cas drawls as they make their way back to the car. “You should’ve had one, too. Your body, wrecked as it has been, would’ve appreciated the kindness.”

“Maybe next date,” he smiles. He keeps walking until he’s tugged back by their linked hands. Cas is stationary behind him.

“Next date? Was this a date?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, man. I mean, I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like a great date, but what else do you do on a date with an angel? Hell if I know. You’ve seen everything, you don’t eat, I—”

The kiss he didn’t see coming knocks the breath out of him. 

“We’re dating?” Cas asks, voice tinged with awe.

“Well, yeah. I mean, humans take their boyfriends on dates.”

“We’re really boyfriends?”

_ Oh, shit. _Dean had just sort of...assumed. 

“Um, well, if you wanna be, I mean. We—”

Cas cuts him off with another kiss, hard and passionate. “I assumed you just didn’t bother correcting her,” he says of the woman at the spa.

“No, that’s not it, Cas. I figured...okay, I guess I made some assumptions, too.”

“Such as?”

Dean wipes his face. The time has come. “Listen, I got some things to tell you, but I don’t wanna do it in a parking lot. Can we get home and talk there?”

“Of course. Let’s go home.”

They part with a squeeze of hands, only to rejoin those hands for the ride. Having Cas by his side feels right. He wishes he’d made a move a hell of a lot sooner.

He sends Sam a text to ask him to scram for a while, then they make their way home in a pleasant silence. Mostly pleasant, at least. Cas’ hand is relaxed in his, and he imagines him staring out the window, as he usually does. The closer they get to home, though, the more terrified he becomes. He tells himself it’s ridiculous—even if Cas doesn’t feel quite the same way, he knows he’s attracted to him, and he seemed excited about being a couple—but he can’t help it when that fear of rejection digs its teeth into him. His hand tightens around Cas’, and Cas soothes it with his thumb. _ It’ll be okay. Even if he doesn’t feel that way about me, it’ll be okay. _

It will _ not _ be okay, Dean thinks miserably when they’re seated at the map table, his hand entwined with Cas’ (though it looks like he’s just holding his hand in a weird, cupped claw). He needs him. Wants him. _ Loves _ him. If he doesn’t feel the same...it’ll be devastating.

“Okay, so, um, yeah. I don’t do these conversations, but uh...boyfriends or partners or whatever. Yeah. I want to be your boyfriend, and I want you to be mine.” He shrugs, because he’s pretty sure that’s obvious. “Do you? Want me to be yours? Want to be mine?”

Cas lifts their joined hands to his face, where he plants a kiss on Dean’s palm. “Yes,” he says, raspy and nearly breathless.

Dean smiles. _ So far, so good. _ “Good. Okay. Um, I assumed, ‘cause we started having sex, but I shouldn’t’ve, so, my fault. Anyway, I also wanna tell you—”

“Why would you assume that because we started having sex?”

Dean stops, surprised. He assumed (again) that Cas would be a “sex-only-within-a-relationship” kind of angel. Yeah, there was that time when he was Emmanuel, but he wasn’t really himself then, and that woman was technically his wife (Emmanuel’s wife, not Cas’). There was that April chick, too, but he was human and vulnerable and...Dean doesn’t like to think about that time. “Um. Just...thought you’d prefer it that way.”

“Do you?”

“Ain’t just about me, Cas.”

“But do you prefer to be together? Or do you prefer to be merely sexual partners?”

There’s an urgency in his tone that Dean only hears when he needs an answer desperately. “Cas, you’re too important to me to just have sex with. Not that it’s not good, ‘cause man…” He clears his throat. “It’s just, we’ve been through much together, you and I. Right?”

Cas chuckles. “Yes.”

“Yeah. And you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

“I...did not know for certain. You have called me your family. Your brother.”

“Yeah, well, ‘brother’ is out the window,” he teases with a smirk. “‘Sides, that was sort of my bullshit way of avoiding my feelings, anyway. You really didn’t know you’re my best friend?”

“I didn’t.”

“You knew I lost my mind when you died, though.”

“Not until recently.”

“But you had to know I would have.”

“I knew no such thing.”

Dean stares into the space before him. “Lemme get this straight. You...you didn’t think I’d lose it if you died. You didn’t know that you're my best friend. You didn’t think we were dating, or boyfriends, or anything except, what, fuck buddies? What the hell do you think I’ve thought of you all this time?”

There’s a long pause in which Dean wonders if he fell asleep or maybe he just can’t hear him again. Finally, Dean hears a shaky breath and a smacking of lips. “I thought...that you thought of me as a friend, most of the time. Family, of sorts. A colleague, certainly.”

Dean’s brows jump. “A colleague?”

“Someone in the same business of protecting this world and its citizens.”

“Okay, but what about all our talks? Sitting around having beers? Movie nights? You’re my huckleberry.” With Cas’ tiny huff of laughter, Dean’s chest loosens, just a little. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt about those. I...made assumptions that they helped you, somehow, and you were grateful for it.”

“Helped me? Like, what, you were there for my entertainment or something? To make me feel better? Seriously? Did they not mean anything to you?”

“Of course they did,” Cas insists. “They meant everything to me. I just...wasn’t sure you felt the same.”

“Cas. Not once did you think all of that—_you_—meant more to me than just a guy to hang out with when I'm bored? Really?”

A sigh escapes Cas’ lips. “I hoped that you filed those times under ‘friendship’ or ‘brotherhood.’”

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“But friendships are fleeting, Dean, and even family bonds can be broken. You’ve not always been pleased with me, and I’ve done so much—”

“Stop it. We’ve both done stupid shit and didn’t treat each other so well. It was easy to do, ‘cause at least for me, I figured you knew where my shit was coming from and you’d see past it and stick around. You’d see me for who I am, and we’d work it out. And you always have.”

“Of course. And I always will.”

With his own words and Cas’, Dean realizes that he has no reason to fear Cas’ rejection. He can truly be himself and Cas will see him, accept him, love him. He wonders if Cas realizes it, too. “And you don’t think I’d do the same for you? You don’t think I’d see past the shit and see you for who you really are?”

Quiet, unsteady breathing answers him.

“Wow, I have _ really _ fucked this up if you don’t think I see you and want you for who you are.” Tears sit at the corners of his eyes. “Cas, when we first met, maybe I wanted you around because you were useful. Maybe I thought it’d be good to have an angel on our side, especially one that saved my ass. And maybe you wanted me around because God commanded it, or to deal with the Apocalypse. But I don’t think you want me for that anymore, and I sure as hell don’t want you for that anymore. I don’t want you around because you’re useful, or because you’re entertaining, or because we have great sex. That’s not what makes you awesome. What makes you awesome is your willingness to give everything your best and fight for what’s right, even if it means losing everything you’ve ever known. What makes you awesome is your respect for humanity, even though we’re leagues below you. What makes you awesome is the way you stay by our sides. But what really makes you awesome?” He finds Cas’ free hand and holds them both tightly in his own. “What really makes you awesome is the way you laugh, and everything you laugh at. Your sarcastic sense of humor that puts me in my place. Your willingness to speak against my opinion, but never against me. Your generosity. How grumpy you get when I tease you. How you’ll eat or drink something just because it makes us feel better. How brave you are. How strong you are. The way you talk about things that are way beyond me, but never put me down. The way you listen, even if you’re a little quick and blunt with the advice sometimes. The way you try, no matter what. How you nitpick whatever show we’re watching. The way you appreciate every damn thing you get, whether it’s riding shotgun or a kind word or a minute in the sun or a friggin’ massage. Your selflessness, and how much you’ve grown to care about yourself. Your eyes when you’re proud of Jack, or me, or Sam, or even yourself. How much you love.” Dean gulps against the tightness in his throat. “That’s what I see in you, Cas. That’s what makes you awesome. That’s what I want. Just you. If you never hunted again, if you retired to a seaside village and fished the rest of your life, I would still want you. It’s not what you can do for me. It’s who you are.”

Cas’ hands tighten around his fingers. “All I ever wanted was for you to see me,” he whispers. “Just _ me_.”

“I do, Cas. I do see you. I’m not good at sayin’ it or showin’ it, but I see you. I always have and I always will.”

Dean collects Cas in his arms and closes his eyes. They hold each other as tightly and solidly as they always have, but with a tender vulnerability added to it that, while not new, is fully present and open to the moment. He cradles Cas’ head as he turns and kisses his neck, his ear, and his cheek. Pulling away and blinking his eyes open, Dean says, “I lov—”

He pulls back further and takes Cas’ face in both of his hands. “I can see you!”

Wide blue eyes stare back at him. “You can?”

“I can! I can, holy shit!” Mouth hanging open in a smile, Dean’s eyes roam Cas’ face, a face he hasn’t seen in much too long. “I missed this face, man. Missed those eyes and the little crinkles around them when you smile really big. Missed seeing that brow scowl at me.” Cas scowls, and Dean laughs. “Yeah, that!”

The angel can’t maintain the look, and he barks a laugh that turns into a fond grin. That grin quickly turns predatory. “I would’ve missed your physical attributes, as well, if I couldn’t see them.” His eyes turn into molten steel, hardening Dean on the spot. “Do you want to take me to your bedroom and show me how much you’ve missed mine?”

Arousal quickens his pulse. “Fuck, yes.”

Sex when Cas was invisible was sort of kinky. He never knew where Cas was going to touch him, and it always looked like things were happening on their own, some sort of sex magic or voodoo. But sex when Cas is visible is something else entirely. 

Dean undresses himself carelessly, then savors each torturous minute it takes him to strip Cas bare. His hands glide over toned legs sprinkled with dark hair, over his equally toned but mostly hairless belly and chest, up his shoulders, neck, and into his thick mop. They both delight in the way Dean rakes his fingers through his locks, Cas loving the scalp massage and Dean loving the way the hair feathers through and disappears in the spaces between his knuckles. He kisses every inch of Cas’ skin from his face to the tops of his feet, then rolls him over to repeat his actions. Cas moans so gorgeously underneath him, and his sounds combined with his flushed skin and glazed eyes make it difficult for Dean to stave off his orgasm. 

Turns out Cas doesn’t want him to, because he can’t wait, either. “Dean,” he pants, turning around and rolling them over seamlessly so that Dean is the one pressed into the mattress. Dean is still dumbfounded by the sheer strength Cas possesses. Cas ruts into him as he plunders his mouth. Dean can barely breathe and wonders if he might die from lack of oxygen and an overwhelming surge of happy hormones. He thinks it wouldn’t be a bad way to go. A fucking great way to go, really, considering how many times he’s gone before and how he went. “Dean, I want to...want to…”

“Yeah, Cas,” he says, because he knows just what his boyfriend wants, and he wants it, too. “Come on me. Mark me. Show everyone who I belong to.”

With their foreheads together, Dean meets Cas’ eyes. The blue fire he loves so much is there, passionate and reverent and otherworldly. Cas gasps, clutching Dean’s shoulders. Dean fights off his orgasm just a little longer so he can see Cas come for the first time, and what a glorious sight it is—Dean’s sweat smeared across his forehead, mouth gaped open, brow furrowed for a completely different reason than usual, muscles rippling, eyes glowing with his grace. Warmth coats his cock, his belly, his chest. “Mine,” Cas whispers, more adoring than possessive, and Dean groans as his orgasm overtakes him. He clings to Cas, his hips shaking and stuttering against the one he loves. Cas kisses him through it, cradling his body as if it’s precious. 

When Dean is spent, they rest, limbs intertwined. “I love you,” Dean tells him, his eyes roaming Cas’ face. He won’t take that face—or any of Cas—for granted anymore. 

“I love you,” Cas smiles. “But you knew that already.”

Dean frowns slightly. “Not for sure.”

Now Cas frowns. “I told you. When Ramiel stabbed me with the lance.”

“I didn’t...I wasn’t sure you meant that...like that. Plus you were dying. People say stuff when they’re dying.”

Cas arches a brow at him that Dean is so grateful to see, even though he knows it means that Cas thinks he’s being dumb. “Yes. People and other beings, like angels, say things when they’re dying. Important things, generally speaking.”

“Well, I didn’t know! You said we were your family, and you said you loved all of us right after, and I—I didn’t want to be wrong, okay? It was easier to think you just meant you loved me in a family kind of way.”

“I did mean that. But I also meant...oh. Well. I suppose both of us made incorrect assumptions and drew unhelpful conclusions.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you didn’t respond in kind, I assumed you did not return my affections, which was disappointing but not surprising. You called me family, which meant everything to me, but...well, it wasn’t what I was hoping for.” 

“You were dying, Cas.”

“Precisely. Which is why I was hoping for...well, one last chance to know your true feelings.”

“I was scared, and I was trying to make sure you didn’t die.”

“I—”

“But I’m sorry, anyway, ‘cause it’s not an excuse. I should’ve told you then. I wish I’d told you sooner than now. I...I’m not good at needing people, Cas. Not good at loving people. I'm pretty friggin’ bad at it, actually, with all my—”

“Dean. You’ve gotten better at it. At loving yourself. At letting things go. Talking.”

“Not where it counts.”

“We are works in progress,” Cas grins. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, hmm?”

Dean huffs. “For sure.”

“Actually, the exact number of days was—”

Dean cuts Cas off with a kiss they both laugh through. “You suck at pillow talk.”

“Is that something else that’s awesome about me?”

With another kiss, Dean says, “Yeah.” 

Sam arrives home a half-hour later, expressing his gratefulness to find both his brother and his “angel boyfriend” fully dressed. They tell him that the spell seems to be broken. Sam asks Dean if he can “please lay off all the touching now that you can see him” and Dean refuses. They’re arguing about it when a knock interrupts them. 

Instantly dropping their fight, Dean and Sam side-eye one another, acknowledging that neither of them was expecting anyone. Cas rolls his eyes at both of them and goes to the door, the brothers following immediately and Dean rushing to Cas’ side. “Oh, hello,” Cas says, surprised but not alarmed. 

“Hey.” It’s a kid, maybe seventeen, with dark hair and a slight build. He’s dressed in black skinny jeans and a reproduction Nirvana shirt. 

“How are you?”

“Awesome. And you?”

Cas smiles. “Very well. Thank you.”

“Good. He got his head out of his ass, huh?”

Dean realizes with a start that this must be the warlock. He pulls out a gun he’s been keeping tucked in his pants for this very event. “You son of a bitch,” he growls.

“Dean, stop.” Cas pushes the gun down gently with his hand. “No one’s going to kill anyone. Put it away.”

They argue silently until Cas pins him with annoyed blue eyes and folded arms. “Fine. But he’s got some explaining to do. And if he tries one thing, Cas, one thing—”

“Yes, dear. You can shoot him.” 

“Whipped,” Sam coughs as they lead the adolescent inside. Dean shoves him.

They settle around the map table. Dean turns sharp, hardened eyes on their young visitor. “All right, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, what gives?”

“My name is Ari.” The warlock looks at Cas. “He’s really the one you wanted, huh?”

Dean barks “Hey!” but Cas smiles and says “Yes,” then, “How did you find us?”

“I did a location spell to find you, then I stuck around town to make sure everything went smoothly. I didn’t know it would take him _ weeks _ to figure it out. When the spell broke, I felt it, and here I am.”

Cas nods, Dean squints at the boy with a scowl, and Sam, the levelheaded one, asks, “So, why the spell?” 

“Castiel gave me a gift,” Ari explains. “I was trapped for over a year in the storage building on our property because, when I turned 16, my father wanted me to devote my life to dark magic. He had all these stupid plans and thought I was going to help him take over the world or whatever. I didn’t want to.”

“What did you want?” Cas asks gently.

Ari shrugs. “Just to be a kid. I was always so different from everyone else, this freak that stood apart ‘cause I had these powers that I couldn’t talk about. And it’s like, yeah, I have these powers, but I’m just like any other kid. I wanted to go to school and hang out with friends and listen to music and play video games and shit. I wanted a girlfriend that maybe I could get to know well enough to tell her my secret, and she wouldn’t run away. I just wanted to be me. My dad didn’t see any of that.” He sighs and plays with his fingers. “When I refused to cooperate, he locked me up. No one could see me or hear me. No one until Castiel. He finally saw me.”

Cas and Ari exchange tight-lipped smiles, and Dean, watching, thinks he understands why this kid considered what he did to be a “gift.” “And so, you made Cas invisible _ why_?”

“He felt invisible, too.”

It’s what Dean expected, but it still hurts to hear it. He reaches out to take Cas’ hand and squeezes it, partly to comfort Cas and partly to comfort himself. “Hell of a curse, kid,” he grumbles to the warlock. “You could’ve just done a truth spell on him or some shit.”

“The spell wasn’t on _ him_,” he sighs, exasperated. “It was on you.”

Dean and Sam both sit up straighter. “On me?” Dean asks.

Ari rolls his eyes to the ceiling, as if he’s trying to stay patient with a couple of toddlers who still don’t understand him. Dean flexes his hands, trying to stay patient with this snotty teen enough to keep his fist from his face. “Yes. The spell was on you, not him. You’re the one who needed your eyes opened.”

“Would you knock off the cryptic comments and just _ explain_?”

“I’m _ trying _ to.” Sighing, Ari continues, “When we talked, Castiel said sometimes he feels invisible, too, like me. He got it. So when he freed me, I wanted to give him a gift, something that would free him and give him the life _ he _ wanted. That gift was a spell on you, showing you his perception of how you saw him.”

“How’d you do it?”

“Through him, obviously.”

Dean and Ari roll their eyes simultaneously.

“_How _?”

“I used his connection to you to psychically set the spell.”

“So why was I affected, then?” 

Ari turns to Sam, then to Cas, who explains, “I wasn’t certain if you saw me as someone who could be more to Dean. When you came to me with your theory and we were able to talk, I felt seen. It took me a while to believe that you felt I was worthy, but when I did, I presume that’s when I was no longer invisible to you and when you could hear me without the radio.”

“You were an important piece of the puzzle,” Ari adds. 

“Yes. I felt that your blessing was crucial to Dean seeing me as a good partner for him.”

“Don’t need his blessing,” Dean mutters, though they all know it’s not quite true. “Why the radio bit?” he asks to change the subject.

“Symbolism, mostly,” Ari answers. “When I was trapped, it was my only connection to what I loved—music, the world. Plus, I had to give you guys a fighting chance to solve this.”

“Didn’t give us a whole lot of clues,” Dean grumbles.

“Castiel figured it out. Sam figured it out. You wanted me to just feed you the answer? No, you had to work for it. For him.”

Dean scowls until Cas caresses his hand. Relaxing fractionally, he asks, “Okay, so what broke the spell with me?”

“You unwrapped the gift.”

“What is it with witches and cryptic shit? Just _ tell me _ what I did.”

Ari rocks back on his chair. “You saw him. In whatever way he wanted you to.”

“But why didn’t it happen all at once? Why could I only hear him first?”

“Maybe because I wasn’t certain,” Cas interjects. “You talked about my laugh, and it made me feel like you saw me. I started to believe, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted _ me_. All of me.”

Smiling softly, Dean asks quietly, “You believe I want all of you now? Everything?”

“I do.”

“Jeez, gimme time to get a ring, would ya?”

Cas’ smile becomes a puzzled frown. “What?” he asks, tilting his head.

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” He cups Cas’ jaw and pulls him into a gentle kiss. He laughs when Cas says “Ohhhh” in the middle of it, finally understanding the joke, and kisses him harder.

“So, what’s _ my _ gift? ‘Cause now I have to live with _ this_,” Sam grouses.

“I could give you soundproofing in your room.”

Dean flips them both off.

Separating after several light pecks, Cas asks, “Ari, what’s next for you?”

“Anything I want,” he says, though his fidgeting belies his put-on confidence.

“Do you have anyone to go to?”

“Nah, but it’s cool. Been on my own for almost a month.”

The three men exchange glances. Sam gets up and makes a phone call.

“You cook?” Dean asks.

Ari shakes his head.

“All right. Wash your hands. We’re makin’ dinner. I’ll teach you.”

Turns out Ari isn’t so bad, Dean thinks. He’s kind of like Jack, in a way--lots of power trapped in an innocent kid’s body, and wanting to do the right thing, though he may go about it wrong. He hopes Jack will be back from his soul-searching soon. In the meantime, they have someone who will help the young warlock find his way. That someone arrives the next morning.

“I’m Jody Mills,” the best foster mom ever says when she arrives to bring Ari home to South Dakota. “You’ll be living with a bunch of strong-headed females. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ari answers respectfully, a small smile on his face. Yep, Dean thinks this is going to work out just fine.

They decline offers to stay for lunch, knowing they have a long trip ahead. After they head out with promises to call upon their arrival, Dean turns to his brother and his boyfriend. _ Boyfriend_. It seems like such a frivolous word for what they have. Maybe he’ll replace it with another word at some point, one that’s bigger, more significant. Permanent.

In the meantime, there’s beer to be had and lunch to be made.

“I’m looking for another case,” Sam declares when Dean tries to rope him into helping. “You and Cas can handle it. Just, please, don’t do anything unsanitary on the table or counter?”

“My grace would sanitize any surface,” Cas assures him. It doesn’t seem to help Sam, but it cracks Dean up.

“Yeah, no. Just keep it in your pants, please, for an hour. Just an hour. I’m begging you.” Sam disappears, leaving an amused Dean and a puzzled Cas behind. Or Dean _ thought _ he was puzzled, at least.

“Did we sufficiently traumatize your brother?” Cas asks with a glint in his eyes.

Dean raises an impressed brow, then presses Cas against the counter. “Not even close,” he purrs. He goes for the kiss, but Cas turns his head demurely.

“We should make lunch first, shouldn’t we?”

“We should make lunch second.”

“And what should we do first?”

We should have sex on this counter first.”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I’m not convinced.” Cas meets Dean’s eyes. They’re sultry, challenging, and sparkling with mirth.

“I see what you’re doing,” Dean says.

“Do you?”

“You want me to beg.”

“Mmm.”

“Show you how much I want you.”

“Mmm.”

“Dean Winchester doesn’t beg.”

“Then Dean Winchester should get started on lunch.” He pulls back, only for Dean to capture him again.

“You’re an ass.”

“You enjoy it.”

Dean caresses Cas’ cheek. “Yeah, I do.” He almost manages to brush his lips against Cas’.

“Sam Winchester begs.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Just a moment ago. He _ begged _us to keep it in our pants for an hour.”

“So?”

“So, I’m inclined to cooperate with the Winchester who begs.”

“Oh, you are a _ rotten _ son of a bitch.”

“Lunch, Dean.”

He absolutely _ loves _ this side of Cas and can’t wait to get to know it better. “But Castiel...please…” Dean whispers, biting his ear. “Please...I need you...love you...let me…” He whispers something in Cas’ ear that makes Cas moan and grab him by the hair. 

An hour later, Sam finds them plating hamburgers in the kitchen. He glances around, paying particular attention to flat surfaces. Dean notices. “Everything got a good grace cleaning,” he assures his brother. 

“Oh, come _ on_. I _ begged _ you to keep it in your pants!”

“I begged harder,” Dean smirks. Cas smiles, meeting Dean’s eyes. 

Sam covers his face. “I swear I’m calling Ari and telling him to make you _ both _ invisible,” he gripes. 

“Go ahead,” Dean smiles. “I’ll always be able to see Cas.” He slinks an arm around Cas’ waist and nuzzles his neck. 

Sighing heavily, Sam grabs a burger and a beer. “Gotta be around them all the time now. Time to stop hunting. Maybe I’ll move to Brazil,” he mutters under his breath as he stomps away. 

Dean snickers as he picks up his plate. Cas snatches the beers, and they make their way to the Cave, where there’s a new-to-them addition Dean picked up recently: a double-reclining loveseat, made for sharing. It’s a permanent space for Cas, right next to Dean, always in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you choose to comment (always welcome!), I promise I'll respond, but it probably won't be until after my vacation, so at least a week. I swear I'm not ignoring you. :)
> 
> Also, this is the first of three (!) Fic Facers stories I'll be posting! The next one is a fun AU about Castiel and Dean meeting after Cas finds Dean and Sam's time capsule in Baby when he's restoring her, and the one after that is a newly-married Cas and Dean vacationing in the Canary Islands--it's a timestamp to my work We Are Not Poets! Look for those in the next month or so. :)


End file.
